


Mandalorian Honor

by DaughterOfMandalore



Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Creampie, Din Djarin's Helmet Stays on During Sex, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM, Mandalorian honor above all, Multi, Naked Female Clothed Male, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Voyeurism, keep the helmet on, mandalorian gang, modulated voices are sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfMandalore/pseuds/DaughterOfMandalore
Summary: Din Djarin expected to encounter difficulties upon obtaining the asset, but he didn't expect you. From his Beskar-clad body to his modulated voice, you've fallen under his spell...and will do literally, anything, to protect his honor....and bring him pleasure.Warnings:Ch3 - rape/non-con *sort of*; graphic gang bangCh4 - FFF (less of a warning and more of a fun heads-up)
Relationships: Cara Dune/Omera, Cara Dune/Omera/Reader, Cara Dune/You, Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin & You, Mandalorians/Reader, Paz Vizsla/Reader, Paz Vizsla/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 87





	1. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the events of Mandalorian S1e1, with the addition of a new character: you.

The blasters go off again. Closer, this time. You grip the bundle closer to your chest, eyes squeezed shut. Then you realize he’s probably watching you with his big ol’ eyes, and you don’t want to frighten him. You loosen your grip on his tiny form a fraction and coo softly, “it’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay. Shhhh.”

You start to straighten from your crouched position to peak over the crates in front of you, when there’s more blaster fire. Your eyes dart to the child huddled in your arms, expecting him to cry out, but he just stares back at you.

A cacophony of blaster fire, louder and closer than even before, then nothing but blaster cannon. And then….silence. From the sounds of it, maybe everyone was dead. That wouldn’t be so bad, you and the kid and the couple of straggler soldiers left could survive forever with all of the supplies in this compound.

Oh except…the bounty hunters. Yeah, that would be a problem. Without the full guard of the compound to protect the two of you, you’d be sitting ducks, just waiting to be picked up by the next hunter to arrive on the Arvala-7. The child would be sold to the highest bidder, and you…well, there wasn’t much left for you here, or anywhere really for that matter. Not that you knew of, anyway.

An explosion of fire a few meters from your face rips you out of your reverie. You jerk your head up to peek just over the crates—right in time to see the huge metal bay doors explode in sparks and fire. Great, well this is it.

You duck back below the crates again and crouch over, shielding the child with your body. You hear a shot go off, a grunt, and a body drop—the single guard they’d left behind as a last line of protection.

“Anyone else?” comes an exhausted yet throaty, modulated voice, far too close to you. For a reason you can’t explain, a chill shoots down your spine, followed by an immediate and very explainable sinking in your chest. Yes, this really was it this time.

“The tracking fob is still active. My sensors indicate that there is a life form present,” comes the robotic voice of a droid. A bounty droid, that was different. They’d sent so many after you, humans, Rodians, Twi’leks, even a couple of Wookies, but this was the first droid. They weren’t playing around anymore, whoever it was who wanted the child was going to stop at nothing to get him.

A few seconds of silence allows you to hear the steady beep of the tracking fob. But wait…were there two of them?

Suddenly, one of the crates in front of you is ripped away. You hear it smash on the opposite wall—a feat of no small strength. Then another is ripped away and tossed, and another. You slowly turn your head to the side…and come within half a meter of two metal faces.

One—the cold, unfeeling gaze of an IG unit. The other…but no, it couldn’t be. A Mandalorian?

Even in your sheltered life, you’d learned a thing or two about the world, and they were not a people to be messed with. But weren’t the masked warriors nearly extinct?

“Show us the asset,” the droid intones.

You look to the Mandalorian, as if he could help you. There’d been two tracking fobs, so it didn’t seem as if they’d arrived together—maybe you could turn them against each other.

“Wait, it’s that thing in her arms?” the Mandalorian asks, incredulously. There it was—that thick, modulated voice again. Okay, if you had to choose between your two potential captors, there may be a clear favorite already.

In your shock you barely think to protest when the Mandalorian reaches out a tan, leather gloved hand and gently pushes back the blanket you’d pulled down over the child’s face.

He gasps. “Wait, they said 50 years old.”

“Species age differently,” responds the IG. “Perhaps it can live many centuries. Sadly, we’ll never know.” He lifts his blaster arm.

“No!” you shout, dropping down to cover the child with your body.

Almost simultaneously, the Mandalorian shouts at the same time, “No!” He brings his arm down on the droid’s to stop it from lifting the blaster. “We’ll bring it in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be…terminated.” On the last word, the IG unit raises the blaster, and trains it on the space between your arms where the child cowered.

Your eyes dart to the blaster hanging useless in your left hand. There’s no way you could bring it up in time—the droid’s reflexes would be so much faster than yours, not to mention the Mandalorian’s.

A blaster goes off, but the child doesn’t flinch. You quickly look him over. Not a scratch.

You look up just in time to see the Mandalorian lowering a smoking blaster, the droid’s incapacitated form on the floor.

“Hand me the asset,” he intones to you.

You squeeze the child tighter. “He’s just a baby,” you insist, tears choking your voice.

“It does not matter,” he states flatly, raising his blaster to train it between your eyes. Somehow the modulated voice is less titillating when it’s accompanied by a raised weapon. “My client has requested it. You will hand it over.”

You take one last, long look at the inquisitive eyes and reach out to caress his face. This poor sweet creature had no idea the kind of trouble he had put so many through. And you’d been there to hold him and comfort him throughout all of it. You were his whole world, at least for the last ten years of his life, and vice versa—the memory treatment you’d received at the hands of his so-called guardians had erased every minute of your past life. All you knew for the past ten years was him. It wasn’t the loneliest life—you at least had each other—and fortunately the soldiers at the compound were too afraid of the consequences of messing with the child’s guardian to ever lay a hand on you. Born into poverty in this world, which of course you must have been—things could certainly been worse.

The child reaches out a little green hand and wraps it around the pointer finger of your outstretched hand and you look up, back at the Mandalorian. One last-ditch effort, and then it was probably going to be goodbye. “You’re taking him somewhere…somewhere far? On a ship?”

The question disarmed him. He hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him, maybe. Probably used to his quarries—and their babysitters—either firing at him or giving themselves up in fear.

“Yes,” he responds flatly.

“Well, how are you going to take care of him?” you demand, your confidence growing as you realize you have a point. “You don’t look much like a… _dad._ Do you know how to feed him? Change him? Bathe him, clean out these big ol’ ears?” you tug gently on the child’s ear, and he turns back to you to smile and coo.

You had a point, and the Mandalorian knew it. “I…well, no, I don’t. But it’s only a few days’ journey.” He reaches for the child, but truly he hadn’t said no, and something in his tone made you feel like there was room for argument. You draw the child closer to your chest, taking a step back—a very short step, as you feel the cold metal of the wall behind you.

“Please,” you beg, raising your eyes to face the eyeslit in his helmet. “You’ve killed everyone in the compound…there’s nothing left for me here. Take me with you, I’ll help with the child. I promise I’ll stay out of trouble. Once we get wherever you’re going, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You take a breath, trying to think of your next argument, and it’s then that you’ve noticed his head is cocked and he’s leaning slightly forward on the balls of his feet. He’s actually…listening to you.

He sighs, probably realizing that the humane options were to kill you or take you with him—and killing an innocent young girl, even for a battle-hardened Mandalorian bounty hunter, was generally in poor taste. “Fine,” he states firmly, and your heart catches in your chest once more at the deep, modulated growl.

He takes a step toward you and stretches out his arm to help you up from the hiding place among the fallen crates, which you gladly accept. He grips your hand firmly, a little too firmly, and you flinch back at the strength of the touch. Shockingly, he catches the flinch, and loosens his grip just enough for you to take notice. You let him pull you to a standing position, then lean against his firm, Beskar-clad shoulder.

“Are you injured?” he asks.

“No,” you immediately respond, straightening up and adjusting your grip on the child.

“I will carry him,” the Mandalorian says gruffly, reaching for the small form. The child squeals, turning scared eyes to meet yours.

“Absolutely not,” you respond defensively. “He doesn’t know you, you’ll only frighten him. I will keep him safe. No harm will come to him.”

The Mandalorian seems to calculate whether arguing is worth the trouble, and either decides you’re right—or realizes that cradling a baby had the potential to impede his ability to activate any one of the weapons hidden in his gauntlets and along his chest.

His chest…you take a moment to rake your eyes along the damaged and dinged Beskar, curious about the humanoid form underneath. His muscle tone was obvious, the way the fabric of his shirt bunched up under his shoulder greaves, his very stature exuding energy and strength.

“Fine,” he states again. “Gather your possessions. Let’s go.”

You look around, from the fallen crates to the door behind you, leading back to the quarters. Sure, you could head to your quarters and grab the other two, identical outfits stacked neatly on your dresser—but really did you need three of these awful standard-issue dull brown sacks? You shrug and grab a backpack next to your feet—a handful of rations for you and the kid, a thin blanket, and a few swaddles for him. “It’s all here,” you say, indicating the bag as you sling it over your shoulder. You carefully step over a crate and move toward the entrance, ready to put this place behind you without a second thought. The Mandalorian silently follows alongside you.

Not the exit you’d been expecting—to be honest, you never expected to leave this place alive. Certainly this was preferable to death…and who knew, maybe with a bit of carefully worded pleading, you’d be able to convince him not to turn the child in. And if you were being perfectly honest with yourself, that wasn’t the only thing you wanted to convince him to do…

You steal a sideways glance at him, his steady gait beside you slowed to match yours. His armor had clearly seen its share of battles, and you find yourself wondering if his skin wore scars to match.

You catch yourself again and re-focus on the mission at hand—survival. Time to make a plan.

* * * 

This was a problem. This was not part of the plan, and Din Djarin did not like deviating from the plan.

He stole a sidelong glance at the girl—no, woman—keeping pace beside him. He wasn’t great at judging the age of human females; she was certainly an adult, but a young one at that; he sensed that most of the age lines in her face were from stress, not from years.

Regardless, she was trouble. Humans were trouble, even ones that promised to take care of the quarry that was going to soon pay for a brand new suit of Beskar.

This certainly had not been the mission he’d expected when the Razor Crest took off from Nevarro just a few days ago. First the blurrgs, who had nearly killed him within moments of stepping foot on the alien soil, then the Ugnaught, Kuill, a kind-hearted imperial slave turned moisture farmer who would certainly be glad to see an end to the stream of bounty hunters that Arvala-7 had been playing host to.

And now…her. He still wasn’t quite sure why he’d allowed her to tag along with him, but he was beginning to regret it. He could see the inquisitiveness in her eyes, and questions were never a good thing. If she proved troublesome, he could always freeze her in carbonite, of course, like any quarry. But for some reason, a nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that he absolutely was not going to do that.


	2. The Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey back to Nevarro. Din Djarin gets emotional...a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter that doesn’t follow the structure of the show—I just couldn’t do anything with the Mudhorn episode!  
> 

Somehow the journey back to the ship managed to be entirely uneventful, and soon the three of you are face to face with a beat up, barely held together ship. Your new home…for now.

The Mandalorian lowers the hatch by tapping a key on his gauntlet, and the two of you follow him inside.

“What’s her name?” you ask.

He turns back to you, and you could swear under that helmet, his eyebrows must be raised.

“The ship,” you clarify. “What’s her name? I’ve never been on a ship before….that I can remember. Just curious…” you babble on.

“Razor Crest,” the Mandalorian grunts flatly, and turns back around to head toward the cockpit.

He takes a seat in the pilot’s chair, and it’s then that you realize things are going to get a bit awkward. First off, he doesn’t seem like the type to share—his thoughts, his feelings, his space—and you were definitely going to be in very close quarters with him. Second, quarters—there’s no way a ship this size had more than one bunk, and there was also no way he’d be sleeping in the same room as you. As much as that thought tantalized you…

You realize you’ve been standing behind his chair awkwardly for a full two minutes, and the child is starting to get restless. You settle awkwardly into the too-big co-pilot’s chair, arranging the child on your lap.

Moments later, the ship takes off. You and The Child both stare ahead, fascinated at the idea of leaving this prison behind. The Mandalorian turns to look at you. “You’ve really never been on a ship?”

“Well, I’m sure I have,” you answer too quickly, in your eagerness that he’s finally speaking to you. “I just…can’t remember it. When I was taken to be a servant at the compound, they erased all of my memories. This little guy,” you hug The Child closer, “is verrrry important to a lot of people. They didn’t want to take any chances—anyone responsible for handling him had their memories erased.”

He nodded, as if none of this surprised him. And maybe it didn’t--you assumed the bounty he was receiving was commensurate with the risk he’d just taken, which was substantial.

You settle back into your chair, the soothing whirs of the equipment around you and the darkness of space lulling you nearly to sleep. You might have fallen asleep, if it wasn’t for the scratchy material of the chair digging into your back, and the fidgeting child on your lap. You pull out your backpack and break off a few pieces of a rations bar for the little one.

The Mandalorian takes notice of the child’s hunger and you hear him clear his throat. You steel yourself for the inevitable warmth that shoots through your core as soon as he opens his mouth, “Do you require nourishment?”

He’s asking about your needs. Well, that’s…not entirely unpleasant. “Me? Oh no, I’m fine…I can go for days…”

“You should eat,” he responds gruffly, leaving no room for argument.

“I’ll eat when you do,” you taunt, and he turns to you, clearly unable to discern whether you’re joking or just plain stupid. Of course you don’t want him to think you’re stupid, so you quickly follow up with a mumbled “kidding.”

He drops the conversation, and you assume that may be all the conversation you’re getting for today. He flips a few switches on the console, engages the autopilot, and then suddenly leaves you and the child in the cockpit alone.

“Hmm, looks like we’re piloting now, little guy!” you whisper in his ear, and he coos in response to your voice. “Do you know how to pilot this thing? Cuz I sure as heck don’t!”

A few minutes go by, and then out of nowhere you get a sense that you’re no longer alone. A chill shoots down your spine as you realize the Mandalorian is right behind you. You turn slowly, and there he is in all his Beskar-clad glory—mere centimeters from where you’re seated. And from your vantage point, he’s towering over you…and you’re right in line with his crotch. You slowly raise your eyes to meet his helmet, but then you can’t help yourself—you lower them down his body, trying to make it look like you’re looking down at the kid, until you reach his belt—and steal the smallest glimpse below. Oh yeah. That’s a bulge.

You swallow, hard.

He breaks your reverie by holding out a ration tin. “Eat,” he commands, and you decide that you’re most likely going to do whatever he tells you.

“Uh, okay,” you stammer.

He sits back in the pilot’s chair, seemingly satisfied with your response. You dig into some greyish cubes of meat(?) and decide to try to draw some dinner conversation out of him.

“So, do you just eat once a day normally? Or do you fast just when you’re around others?”

He takes so long to answer that you think he might be ignoring you. Surprisingly, he turns to face you. “I don’t think about food much. I eat when it is convenient.”

“Well that seems—hey!” you look down just in time to see the kid slurping up the last of your ration box. “I guess you were hungrier than I thought!” you scratch behind one of his big ears and he makes a purring sound.

“So, next question. What am I supposed to call you?”

“Mando is acceptable.”

“Mando. Short for Mandalorian of course--well that’s creative…no name?” Another minute goes by, and you gather your courage, following up coyly, “You can’t tell me _anything_ more personal than that?”

He whips around and snarls, “No! Mando is acceptable. You need to know nothing else. NO more questions.”

Embarrassed, you pull the child to your chest and close your eyes, pretending to sleep. The child falls asleep in a matter of minutes snuggled against you. You’re completely exhausted but unfortunately, this ship is old, and this chair is ridiculously uncomfortable. You fidget, crossing and uncrossing your legs, which leads to the child waking up and shrieking.

Your eyes snap open in time to see Mando’s helmet once again whipping around to face you.

“You two should sleep,” he states forcefully.

You melt inside at the sound of his voice, but maintain your composure, still embarrassed by his earlier reprimand of you. “Sorry…we’re trying…” you mumble quietly.

“Not here,” he states. “You may take my quarters.”

You stare at him for a moment, doing a quick mental calculation. There was the hallway when you first walked in…the room that was clearly his quarters…yeah that was about it. One room, one place for him to be helmet-off.

“I know you need your privacy, for eating and sleeping,” you argue. “We’re fine here.”

“You are not,” he growls.

“Seriously,” you say. “It’s fine. I promise, I’ll be asleep in like, 5 minutes.” You squeeze your eyes shut, afraid to open them in case he’s still watching you. And eventually, you do pass out.

* * *

You wake up in a bed. His bed. This was unexpected…so he either chose to forgo sleep, or he’s somewhere else in the ship, passed out on the floor, helmet on. You hug the sleeping child to your chest and hear a soft moan. Accustomed to comforting him, you squeeze him closer...until you realize it isn’t him.

You stiffen. But it couldn’t be….

You slowly roll away from the child’s sleeping form and out of the bunk. Pulling your sweater closed around you, you venture out of the room in the dark, and the moaning gets louder as you walk toward the cockpit.

You stand a few meters behind his chair, unsure what to do. You can see the top of his helmet—he’s clearly asleep, but twitching. And moaning.

“N…noooo,” comes a choked wail and forgetting the embarrassment you feel so often around him, you run to his side and instinctively grab one of his leather-gloved hands.

“No!!” he shouts, louder and more desperate, jerking forward in the chair and catching himself just before his head hits the console in front of him.

He immediately wakes up. Straightens up, swallows, hard. And then he turns to you and lowers his head so his T-visor is trained on your hand on top of his.

You’re suddenly aware of how loud your breathing sounds, while it seems for his part he’s practically holding his breath. Your hand isn’t just resting on his—your fingers are curled under his, desperately tight. You slowly uncurl your fingers and pull your hand to your side.

“I…I’m sorry, you were….” Your voice trails off, and you’re not sure which one of you is supposed to be embarrassed.

Clearly, the answer is—him. He turns away from you and busies himself flipping switches on the console in front of him. “My…apologies for disturbing your sleep,” he says hoarsely, his voice a choked whisper.

Forgetting yourself once again, you dart your hand out to briefly rub his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch away. “You didn’t…I mean, I have night terrors too.” You kneel down on the floor next to him, your forehead centimeters away from his Beskar-covered knees. You’re suddenly very aware of how far away his crotch is, and from your second look of the bulge there, it’s obvious he has anatomy at least approximating that of a humanoid.

You sit there in silence for what feels like forever and you’re just about to get up to check on the child when you feel the soft leather of his gloved hand, ever so lightly, brush across your forehead and along your cheek, tracing the contour of your face. You turn to look at him and just as quickly his hand is pulled away. “Thank you,” he says, and you’re not sure why.

“For what?” you ask.

He lightly brushes your hair again, so quickly that you’re not even quite sure it happened. “For staying here with me. Your presence is…a comfort.”

Your heart hitches at the last word and your cheeks burn as you try not to let him see you smile. “Yours is, as well,” you whisper quietly.

* * *

There’s something about her and Din Djarin can’t quite place it. It had been a while since he’d had a night terror like that—most of his childhood flashbacks had subsided shortly after his first jaunt as a bounty hunter. But somehow being around her relaxed him enough to let his guard down…

She had touched him. Not even intentionally really, almost casually, which made it all the more tantalizing. Even through the leather and cloth he could feel the softness of her fingers, and yearned to know what else they were capable of.

Yet at the same time, the thought of how far he’d already let his guard down terrified him. The last time that had happened…but she’d made no move to remove his helmet, hadn’t even asked about it. Unlike most of her kind, she seemed to have a quiet respect for the ways of his people—or at least that was what she wanted him to believe. Letting his guard down wasn’t something Din Djarin ever di—especially not since the last incident. The Twi’lek who’d almost ruined his life…he shook his head and tried to focus on the task at hand. He’d be rid of the girl by tomorrow. Tomorrow…he was going to have to give up this young woman’s only friend in the world to its new captors—and somehow he didn’t think she’d go along quietly with that plan.


	3. The Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARCHIVE WARNINGS! This chapter is the "nonconsent-ish" one. Also somewhat graphic depictions of gb sex...that will be more graphic/violent once I flesh it out a bit more.
> 
> The Mandalorian faces some trouble when purchasing his new armor...and you're the only one who can help.

You wake up the next morning with dread in your heart. Today’s the day the child will be turned in, and you haven’t exactly done a fantastic job bargaining for his life, or any job for that matter. You look over to see those big eyes next to you. “Come on, little guy,” you say softly and pick him up, going to join Mando in the cockpit.

He’s at the pilot’s chair and gives you a short nod as you settle into the co-pilot’s. “Mando, please, if there’s anything I can do to make you reconsider—"

He holds up a hand to silence you. “It is not up for discussion,” he states flatly.

You ponder what to say next, and the child takes it upon himself to make his case. Climbing out of your lap, he moves toward Mando, then stops—distracted by something on the console. It’s a lever with a small black ball on the end of it—a ball that the child has clearly claimed as his. He tugs on it but to no avail, and lets out a cry of frustration.

Absently, Mando reaches over, unscrews the ball, and hands it to the child—this is the most interaction he’s had with him this entire 2 days. Maybe there’s a chance…

“Mando,” you try again. “It’s not too late—”

“Honor dictates I turn over the bounty I was hired to acquire,” he responds, and that’s the end of it—he jumps out of his chair and strides to the other side of the cockpit, taking the ladder down below. A moment later, you hear him rifling through the weapons locker. You walk across to the console where the child is now sitting, happily playing with his ball, no idea of the fate that is to befall him. You kneel down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so, so sorry, I just don’t know what to do….” Your voice breaks and you pick him up again, hugging him to your chest.

Mando returns and settles silently back into his seat, prepping the ship for landing. He looks up at you, as if surprised you’re still there. “You should sit,” he instructs. “We’ll be landing.”

You return to your seat with the child on your lap and stare daggers into the back of the Mandalorian’s helmet. You knew this was coming, but still, some small part of you thought he’d change his mind.

Mando effortlessly lands the ship and turns to you. “The child,” he intones.

You hug him tighter to your chest. “I’m coming with you!” you respond in your most forceful tone.

“When we arrive—” he begins but you don’t give him time to finish.

“I know, I know. I will hand him over to you. No trouble…I promise,” you finish, choking out the words. There was still time for him to change his mind….

You gather your pack and with the child on your hip, you follow Mando out of the ship.

The terrain is flat with the occasional rockbed peppered here and there…and sandy. So, so sandy. You pull your jacket tighter around you, bundling the child up in it, and slowly follow the Mandalorian’s careful footsteps. It takes every bit of willpower not to run away—but then, you’re pretty sure you know exactly how fast he’d catch you.

All too soon, you’ve arrived at your destination.

“It’s time,” he says, and reaches out for the child. You don’t move.

Mando’s demeanor softens, and he runs his thumb lightly along your cheekbone. You jump at the unexpected contact, and then lean into his hand, savoring it. “I have to,” he says apologetically, the modulated tone a choked whisper. “He’ll be okay…” but he isn’t half convinced himself, and he sure isn’t going to convince you. Still immobile, you allow him to uncover the child from the folds of your arms, and have just enough time to peck a quick kiss on his forehead and whisper in his ear, “I love you, sweet child.”

The Mandalorian turns back to a door in front of him, child in hand, and an almost comically large eyeball scanner looks him over before opening the door to allow entry. Just before stepping inside, he turns to you, “just…stay here. It won’t be long.”

Stay here—well where else would you go? You’d stay here, as close to the child as you could possibly get, until someone made you leave.

You lean back against the wall and close your eyes, wondering what was going on inside. Maybe you could convince him to come back for the child…maybe he’d realize his mistake and go storming back in there to sweep him up, and then take the both of you far from here…

Just minutes later, the sound of the door opening catches you by surprise and you turn around just in time to see Mando exiting the building again—but this time with a large cylinder held in one hand, presumably the bounty. The reward he earned for turning in the little one you’d come to think of as yours.

He puts one hand on your shoulder to steer you away from the building and you follow his lead.

“Do…do you know what they’re going to do with him?” you manage to get out.

“I asked,” he responds, and that surprises you—wasn’t that against the bounty hunter code?

“And?”

“And they reminded me it is against our code.” He stops, and turns to face you. “I don’t like it either,” he says, and a surge of hope fills you.

“Okay,” you state slowly. “So…are you gonna like, go back and get him?”

“Of course I cannot do that,” he responds and resumes walking.

You have to half-jog to keep up with him—clearly armed with a fortune, he does not want to linger any longer than necessarily. “But you said—” you start to protest, and he suddenly stops, with an outstretched hand indicating you should do the same.

“I must take care of this before we can return to the ship,” he states, referring to the Beskar in his hand.

From somewhere deep within the folds of his armor, he produces a crescent-shaped band of thin metal. “Please, put this on.”

You stare at him, not quite sure what it is, waiting for him to explain.

“Where we’re going…it would not do for you to have use of your eyes. No outsiders may see this place.”

You nod slowly, as confused by the object as you are by the silent man’s sudden burst of eloquence.

He notes your confusion, and reaches out to help you. His strong hands wrap around your fingers, guiding them up to your face, and he helps you rest the metal gently along your forehead. It instantly contours to the curves of your face—but you notice you can still see through the slit across your eyes. He taps a control on his gauntlet, and immediately your world fades to blackness.

“Follow me,” he commands, and takes your arm.

You let him lead you down a dirt path, and you notice what little light filtering in through the visor is getting dimmer and dimmer.

Almost immediately, you hear someone shout something in Mando’a, stopping you both in your tracks. Mando rests his hand on your shoulder almost casually as he speaks to the other. Eventually there is the sound of footsteps—the other Mandalorian has left, and the two of you proceed. “It is…unusual to bring one here. Unusual, but not forbidden….provided they are appropriately outfitted,” he adds, tapping the side of your visor.

You continue to let him lead you through the darkness. After a few minutes, you start to feel a warmth, and hear the sounds of metal against metal. You appear to be at some sort of smelter—and then it finally dawns on you what his plans are for the Beskar.

Mando leads you to a chair. “This will just be a moment,” he states, and he moves away from you—close enough that you can still hear his voice, but can’t exactly make out what is being said. He speaks to a woman, apparently negotiating something. They end their conversation as quickly as it began, and he returns to stand next to you. You hear him place something heavy—presumably the bounty—on a table in front of you. “She will forge my new armor soon,” he states. “It will not take long.”

You nod, not really sure what to say, and then you both lapse into silence. You’re about to bring up the child again, when you hear some muttering, which gets closer. Then, much closer, the sound of clinking metal. Did someone pick up one of the Mandalorian’s Beskar ingots? You hear a new voice, “These were cast in an Imperial smelter.” The newcomer snorts derisively. “These are the spoils of the Great Purge. The reason we live hidden like sandrats.”

You hear the metal clank again—the Beskar being returned—and a woman’s calming voice, “Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength.

Mando suddenly grips you’re hand, and you’re not sure if it’s for your benefit, or his.

“Our strength was once in our numbers,” comes the other voice angrily. “Now we live in the shadows and only come above ground one at a time. Our world was shattered by the Empire with whom this coward shares tables.”

Coward? Are they talking about Mando?

Heavy footsteps, and then the sound of a scuffle. You hear a grunt from just next to you and Mando’s grip on your hand loosens, but he doesn’t let go. “Not so strong now, are you?” the voice hisses from centimeters away. “Let’s see…which first…taking off your helmet, or taking your woman?” You feel yourself ripped backward, fingers digging into the flesh of your neck. You still have Mando’s hand in yours, but your arm is stretched to the fullest. You dig your nails into the leather-protected flesh of his palm, willing his hand to stay wrapped around yours.

Laughter comes from behind you, and closer—heavy breathing. You aren’t quite sure whose, but it certainly seemed like there were more Mandalorians in this room than you’d originally thought.

“Paz Vizsla!” interjects the woman’s voice again, strong and even. “That is not our way. You know that the sins of Death Watch are not to be repeated. You will take a woman willingly, and only then.”

“Haha or not even then, in your case,” comes the voice you now know belongs to Paz. “Well then…to the next order of business.” The fingers on your shoulder are removed. “I think it’s about time we help this traitor take his helmet off…”

You hear a grunt that you recognize as belonging to Mando, and then, to your surprise, a soft whimpering. It immediately brings you back to the Razor Crest, the night before when you were there in the cockpit, holding his gloved hand, and you knew under that helmet was a scared boy, panting and sweating. You have seconds to react, and then his life will be over. You know what the consequences of the helmet coming off are, and so does he.

“Stop!” you shout, and several of the men surrounding you gasp in surprise, as if they’d thought you were mute.

Paz lets out a longer, deep belly laugh this time. “What, little one?” he coos in your ear. “You gonna stop us? You gonna defend this…COWARD with, what, your pretty face?”

“A…trade,” you manage to stammer out as a plan quickly coalesces in your head.

“A trade?” he repeats, intrigued, and you know you have him.

You take a deep breath, pushing the chair back to stand up straight, and turn slightly, to address where you think the majority of the Mandalorians are standing. “You say he dishonors your people, so I offer you a trade. His honor…for mine.”

It’s completely silent around you until slowly, comprehension dawns. “No! comes the pained voice next to you. “ _Ad’ika,_ _no._ ” But his voice is quickly drowned out by the whoops and shouting that surround you.

“Hehehe,” chuckles Paz. “Now this…I agree to!” He grabs your hand and you shake it, barely realizing what you’re about to get yourself into.

“This is not agreed!” protests Mando in an agonized voice that even the modulator couldn’t hide.

“I’m sorry,” comes the female voice again, tinged with sorrow. “But the offer has been given, and the terms agreed to. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” the other Mandalorians around you respond.

You hear a crashing noise next to you and you take a moment, wondering what was dropped—until it hits you that it’s Mando. The sick thud of them hitting him comes next and realization dawns—if they can’t remove his helmet, they’re at least going to make him pay.

“No!” you shout, using every bit of courage you have left. “You leave him be, we conduct our business NOW. It is not of his concern any longer.”

A pain shoots up your scalp and you’re jerked back again, Paz’s gloved hand wrapped around your ponytail. “With pleasure,” he breathes in your ear.

“Let’s go!” He shouts behind him. Someone pushes you from behind, and you take a few steps forward. “Come on!” Paz shouts again, closer to you. “We’re going somewhere where he can see every pained look on your face. Tsk tsk, it’s too bad you can’t see his….maybe next time.”

He prods your back with a blaster and you pick up the pace, your footsteps echoing on the cold concrete ground. He continues to prod you every few seconds and you walk on and on, wondering how many are following, and whether Mando is still with you. Suddenly, a hand is placed on your shoulder and you stop, just in time to be thrust down to your knees and the visor ripped off your face.

You blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. You appear to be in a cave…it’s nearly empty, except for some dim torches in sconces along the walls and a few stained and broken chairs and benches.

You take a moment to look around, taking in your surroundings. Immediately to your right is one who you can only assume is Paz—a burly, self-assured heavy-armored figure with a blaster trained on you. You count three other Mandalorians, and you’re pretty sure Mando isn’t there—until you see him, along the wall, a blaster trained on the bare cloth of his neck him by another Mandalorian you’d missed on your initial count.

“Bring him closer!” Paz shouts, and as Mando’s prodded in the back, you see the forcefield cuffs on his wrists, immobilizing not just his wrists but also his hands—preventing him from making a move toward any of the built-in weapons typically at his disposal.

They bring Mando to within arms’ length of you, and then force him to his knees. He looks up at you, locking the T-slit of his visor on your eyes. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispers, just loud enough for your and Paz’s ears, his modulated voice cracking on the last word.

“Luckily for you, yes she does,” Paz returns, and before you even realize what’s happening, he’s ripped off his armored codpiece and opened the flap in his jumpsuit, exposing a long, thick cock. “The rules are simple,” he whispers, easily covering the last couple of steps toward your face while slowly stroking his rapidly growing cock. “Each one of us cums, and you go in peace.”

On the word peace, he reaches his hand around the back of your head, shoving it forward, while he tightens his other around your neck. You open your mouth as wide as you can, just in time for him to ram his thick cock down your throat. You see stars…you can’t remember the last time you had sex, any sex. Maybe this is something you’ve done before, maybe the muscle memory will save you, but right now you feel as if you’re suffocating, and he just keeps jamming it further and further down your throat.

You manage to dart your eyes to the side and steal another glance at your surroundings—there were now two guards standing in front of Mando, while the other two Mandalorians were following Paz in removing equally large, hard cocks from the folds of their pants.

“That’s a good girl” Paz breathes in your ear. “Such a good little slut, suck that cock like a good slut while your favorite Mandalorian watches….Hey!” he shouts over your shoulder, straightening up and withdrawing from your mouth slightly, leaving just the tip between your lips. “Come on, you’re ruining all the fun! Make sure he has a good view!”

From the corner of your eye you see the two guards dragging Mando between them. His head is down, as if he’s afraid to make eye contact with you—or as if he’s ashamed of you.

They bring him closer, so close he must be able to smell the precum on your breath. You can hear him panting—he’s hurt. You wonder if he’s even fully conscious, when you catch him muttering something. You lean forward on Paz’s cock, making a show of enjoying the choking this time, using it to get a better look at Mando, who’s head is now being held steady right behind Paz, visor trained on you. “I’m…sorry…” he stammers out in a whisper.

You want to comfort him, tell him it’s going to be alright, but right now you try to focus on breathing in between thrusts of Paz’s cock. Just when you think maybe he’s had enough and he’ll finish, he abruptly withdraws from your mouth.

You feel a hard tap on your ass, and rough gloved hands shove you forward, onto your hands and knees. You’re still fully clothed but as you were dressed for this sandy planet, the angle hikes your already short shorts up, giving the two Mandalorians behind you a view of the bottom of your ass cheeks.

Hands reach out and squeeze, and you hear grunts and the wet slap of cocks sliding through leather-clad fingers. “Oh, I think we’re gonna need some help with this,” comes Paz’s voice again. He turns to face Mando behind him. “Undress her,” he commands.

Mando doesn’t answer him, and Paz leans closer. His fingertips curl under the edge of Mando’s helmet. He nods to the guards on either side of Mando, one of whom flicks a switch on his left forearm, deactivating the forcefield cuffs, and then reaching for his blaster, to train it between your eyes. Simultaneously, the other guard trains his blaster on the same spot.

Paz’s fingertips are still on the edges of Mando’s helmet. “No funny business!” Paz shouts in his ear. “I have no problem voiding my half of the bargain…if it feels necessary. Now, don’t make me ask again. Take off her clothes. All. Of. Them.”

Mando swallows hard enough to be heard through the vocoder and struggles shakily to his feet. He walks toward you, his hand outstretched, and places it on your shoulder. Bending down, he takes a knee so that he’s on eye level with you.

For your part, you lift your eyes up off the ground, afraid to look at his face, but dying for the comfort of his already familiar helmet. You slowly lift your eyes to where his must be. His fingertips trace the edge of your sleeve, but his helmet doesn’t leave your face.

“Hurry it up!” Paz shouts. “Or do you really want us to spend ALL night fucking her! If you don’t play nice…we won’t either.” To emphasize his point, he whacks you across the back with the butt of his blaster, sending you sprawling facedown.

You stay there for a few moments, breathing slowly, wondering if you stayed immobile long enough, if it would all be over. Then hands are on your back, but not just any hands: his hands. You feel them along your shoulders, your neck, your face, and then you look up at him—and you’re reminded why you’re doing this. You swallow, and decide to help him. Raising your hands up in the air, you shimmy out of the shirt as he slides it up and over your small breasts.

The men around you gasp—it’s been a while since many of them have seen a woman’s body. Two of the men who have yet to touch you take a step forward, each reaching for your body, when Paz interrupts again. “He’s not done!” Then, turning to Mando, “Do NOT make me ask you again.”

You turn to face Mando one last time and nod. Let’s get this over with. He reaches out and in one swift motion, yanks your pants and panties off together, exposing your bare ass and pussy to the other salivating Mandalorians, each pacing around you, most with one hand on their cock and one on a blaster, trained on either you or Mando.

You’re not sure which one grabs you first but three or four leather-clad hands are soon grasping your body, squeezing your thighs, asscheeks, your breasts. There is one man behind you, Paz and another in front—the remaining two must still be busy with returning the forcefield cuffs to Mando’s wrists. You feel cold Beskar digging into your left thigh as the tip of a new cock is rubbed against your asshole. You flinch away and the other Mandalorian behind you grabs your waist, pulling you backward as he rubs his cock, the tip of it grazing the top of your asscheek. He pushes it in just a little—you try to flinch again but the hands hold you immobilized—then further, and after a few seconds he’s slamming it into your unlubricated ass. He starts to get a slow rhythm of thrusts going and you whimper from the pain.

A deep chuckle comes from just in front of you—Paz. “That’s more like it, girl,” he snarls, slapping your breast and then grabbing your hip to steady himself as he slams his huge cock, dripping with precum, into your pussy.

You squeeze your eyes shut and then remember Mando. Opening them again, you look over Paz’s shoulder, and see that they’ve brought Mando even closer. They’re watching him watch you and for his part—his visor seems not to have left your body for a moment. The helmet affords him a degree of anonymity—in truth he could be looking at the torch in the sconce over your shoulder as easily as he could be looking at your body—but there’s something about the way he slouches forward in…shame? Remorse? You can’t be certain, but the one thing that is certain is, the longer you stare at the hard lines of his firm body, the less you mind the full feeling of two Mandalorian cocks penetrating your tiny body.

Make that…three. One of the warriors on his knees in front of you, vigorously stroking his cock as he fondles your breasts, decides to straighten up, blocking your view of Mando. He stands next to Paz, who for his part is still thrusting vigorously into your tiny pussy. He grips your hair and pulls your head forward, forcing the side of your face to graze against his cock. He slaps your cheek with it, over and over until it starts to hurt. Paz and the other two men who had penetrated you so far were thick, but this one was long. So, so long…you couldn’t imagine taking even half of it into your mouth.

But you don’t have to imagine, as he pulls your face forward, massaging your neck to help you open your throat. He thrusts into your throat, fucking it in time to the others. You have no choice as he holds your neck there, immobilizing you, using you as a fuckdoll. Tears stream down your face as you try to gasp for air but can’t take a single breath around the cock suffocating you. Just as you start to feel as if you might throw up, he shoves deeper, and you feel the hot cum pouring down your throat as he lets out a whoop of pleasure. He holds it there for what seems like forever, and then finally withdraws, unexpectedly slapping your cheek as he does. “Spit!” he shouts, slapping you again.

You do as your told, spitting on the floor in front of you, watching the cum drip over the stone floor.

You wipe your lips on the back of your hand and as you lift your face to find Mando’s, another cock has already taken the place of the first, hard and dripping. This Mandalorian doesn’t have the enthusiasm of the previous one, and he lets the other two men fucking you take the lead, holding his cock steadily in your mouth while the others thrust in your pussy and ass. After a while he almost seems to grow bored; he pulls out or your mouth and strokes his cock rapidly with one hand, while the other hand holds your face a hair’s breadth away from his throbbing cock. Finally, he lets out a cry like the previous man, shooting hot ropes of cum all over your face, covering your lips, nose and cheeks with it.

You look up at his helmet and you can almost feel that he’s smirking at you. He wipes some of the cum off your lip and shoves his finger unceremoniously in your mouth. The taste of salt fills your throat again. “Taste it, bitch,” he whispers before taking a step back—to reveal the fact that Mando had been standing behind him this whole time.

You lock your eyes on Mando, wondering what he must think of your cum-soaked face. Paz snarls in your ear, “you like it when he watches you, don’tcha girl? You love him watching us fuck the shit out of you.” He turns his head briefly to Mando, then returns to you, increasing the pace of his thrusts. You’ve almost forgotten the Mandalorian behind you, who quickens his pace in time to Paz’s. “How much Mandalorian cum do you think you can take, little one?” Paz whispers loud enough for both you and Mando to hear. His breathing is getting heavier and you hope that means this is almost over. Out of nowhere, the warrior thrusting in your ass pulls out of you, pouring his cum all over your ass cheeks and lower back. “Oh come on,” sneers Paz. “Doesn’t anyone wanna fill this little human bitch with Mandalorian seed? Don’t worry darling, I’ll give you enough for all of us.” Suddenly, he digs his knuckles into your shoulders, flipping you on your back, all the while keeping his massive cock deep inside you.

You’ve lost your view of Mando, as all you can see from this vantage point is the ceiling. Paz realizes this, and seems as distraught by it as you are. He raises a hand over his shoulder in a beckoning motion and Mando is brought forward once again, forced to his knees right next to your shoulder. The last guard, who’d spent much of the time keeping an eye on Mando, finally decides it’s his turn, and he kneels down next to Paz, stroking his cock over your body. He squeezes each breast in turn with one hand while he strokes more and more rapidly, leaning so he can circle the tip of his cock along your nipples.

You turn to look at Mando again, trying to completely tune out the cocks inside and above you. He looks so defeated, and you’re again struck by the thought that he’s ashamed of you. You’re also suddenly aware of the fact that, although he’s immobilized you have full mobility in your own hands, and you reach one out, slowly so as not to draw Paz’s attention. You rest it on the small sliver of thigh that isn’t covered by Beskar, feeling the knotted muscles with your fingertips. Mando shifts his helmet ever so slightly to look at your hand—surprised that you’re touching him. But he doesn’t flinch away.

You look back to Paz to see if he noticed, but he could care less what you were doing with your hands—his knuckles continue to dig into your shoulders as he thrusts deeper and deeper, beads of sweat dripping from under his helmet and landing on your stomach.

You’re so distracted by Paz and Mando that you’ve forgotten about the Mandalorian stroking himself over top of your body—that is, until you feel the increasingly familiar hot beads of cum splatter across your chest and stomach. He withdraws, and then it’s just you, Paz—and your hand on that fucking sexy Mando thigh. Paz pushes into you with renewed vigor and you squeeze Mando’s thigh tighter, willing yourself not to scream in pain.

“I hope this was worth it,” Paz whispers to you, but you know the words are meant for Mando. “Sure as…hell was…worth it…for us,” he pants out, his breathing growing heavier and heavier. “You better fucking watch. Watch me…pump her full of my seed. Hey…if you’re lucky…maybe I’ll put a nice strong warrior…in her. A little gift…to remember…us by.” He stops for a moment and lifts his hands off your shoulders. You’re not sure why, until he puts his hands back down, this time coming to rest on your cum-soaked breasts. He squeezes your nipples with what feels like all his strength and you squirm under him, biting your lip to keep from screaming. He lets out that awful, deep belly laugh. “Take my fucking cum, bitch,” he growls, thrusting into you. “Take my cum…for that fucking traitor of yours.” He thrusts harder and harder, you feel as if your pussy might explode from the impact, and then you feel the awful warmth of his semen fill your body.

Paz lets out a guttural cry and withdraws from you, wiping his cum-soaked cock on your thighs as he does. He slowly straightens up and crosses the room to where several of the others are standing. He picks up a rag from the floor and wipes his cock off with it, joking with the others in Mando’a as he does. Then he slowly tucks his member back into his pants and strides forward.

He kneels down next to you once more, his helmet centimeters from your face. You’d love to just reach off and pull his off—wouldn’t that serve him right—but for the two blasters that you are 98 percent certain are still trained directly on your head.

“Well little slut, I didn’t think you had it in you.” He rakes his visor along your body one last time, taking in your sticky, sweat-covered form. You cower under his gaze and are suddenly aware of just how cold the room is. He tosses the cum-soaked rag at you, and it hits your cheek and falls to the floor. It reeks of sweat and semen. “You might want to wipe off before Mando has his turn with you…or not, up to you.” You hear that awful chuckle and Paz turns to leave the room. Before he does, he stops to look at Mando, who seems frozen in space, kneeling in the last position they had left him, your hand still gripping his thigh. He leans down to deactivate the forcefield cuffs, taking the opportunity to growl in Mando’s ear, “she’s full of my juices now, but you might as well add yours to the mix. That is, unless we’ve loosened her up too much for your liking,” and with one last chuckle and an almost friendly-seeming clap on Mando’s shoulder—he’s gone.

In fact, they’re all gone. You glance around the room—it’s just you and Mando and the cold cave walls. You look back at the disgusting rag…was it worth using it? You squeeze your eyes shut, remembering how you used to meditate at the compound to clear your mind. You take several deep breaths, trying to steady your breathing while at the same time, desperate to know if Mando is going to take his “turn.”

You sit up and finally withdraw your hand from Mando’s thigh, pulling your knees to your chest, now too ashamed to steal another glance at Mando. You almost miss the distraction of the other Mandalorians—at least with them penetrating you from every side, you didn’t have to face the fear of what was to happen next for you. You catch a glimpse of the rag in the corner of your eye and, resigning yourself to using it, you reach out—only to feel a gloved hand rest on top of yours.

“No,” Mando says softly.

You look up, surprised to see he’s moved to stand right next to you. You glance again at the rag, surprised that he wants to leave their marks on your body as he takes you. “I…I’m ready,” you manage to stammer out, looking up at Mando. Last night you had wanted him so badly, but not like this.

He shakes is head and, unsure what that means, you return your gaze to the floor. A minute goes by, then two, and you’re just about to turn to face him again when you catch a ripping sound. You look up to see he’s removed his left glove—he’s REMOVED HIS GLOVE—and his gauntlet along with it. You glimpse the tan, muscled flesh of his forearm, as the still-gloved right arm grasps the material of his flightsuit and rips. He rips the shirt all the way around his arm, till little of the sleeve is left on his body. As he gathers the fabric up in his right hand, you’re afforded more and more of a view of the hand and accompanying arm. Then, just as quickly as he pulled them off, he’s replaced the gauntlet and glove and the magical moment is past.

He sits down next to you and places a hand on your knee, gently pulling it out from where it was tucked under your chest. His hand is wrapped in the fabric of his shirt, but even so, you can still feel each of his fingers as he runs the cloth along your legs, your chest and stomach and even arms, and then ever so gently swipes it across your pussy and ass. After five glorious minutes under his touch, he suddenly straightens up, and miraculously produces your clothes out of what feels like thin air—you had completely forgotten you had clothes here.

You stand up on shaky legs and he silently helps you into your panties and shorts. The silence is not unusual for him, but you find yourself wondering if there is anything more to it today…shame? But, of you, or of himself?

“It’s time to go,” he states flatly, the first words you’ve heard since just after Paz left the room. You nod slowly, at this point you don’t even have the energy to beg him to go back for the child.

But maybe Mandalorians can read thoughts, because the next modulated words you hear are music to your ears.

“It’s time to reclaim the child.”

You stare up at him in shock. “But I thought you said that honor dictated you turn him in?”

“Yes,” he responds, and your heart sinks all over again. “But things have changed. Now….it dictates that I return him to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 06Nov note: Okay so I finally overhauled this one! Cleaned it up, fleshed it out, it's definitely raunchier now--oops! Hoping to start working on Ch4, would love to get that posted while Season 2 is still airing :-)


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